Guardians Undying
by Eishexe
Summary: Three years have passed. A forgotten sacrifice could be the key to another 1000 annuals of peace. rated T to keep me outta trouble
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: Nope don't own Tin Man…though I do so enjoy spending time with its characters.

Authors Note: Still looking for a beta for this so please excuse any errors. All those I have messaged have not replied. If you are a beta and take interest and would like to assist me please private message me Thanks!

Prologue:

Darkness and light there is no in between here. I am confused at first as the light of consciousness begins to pour into the nothingness that is my slumbering. What has woken me? As my addled mind began to stir again I notice the cold for the first time in…I frown. I don't know how long it been since the last time I was aware. Annuals? Centennials? Possibly Millennial? I throw the thought from my mind because time I remember means nothing to me anymore. The numbness in my joints and muscles begin to fade. I feel myself take a breath. My eyes flicker open and I find myself kneeling before my rose colored charge. A twinge of pain threatens to cloud my mind but I push it away. _None of that now. _I think groaning as I force my muscles into action. They do not scream out in pain as they should. _I feel nothing._ I remind myself taking in my surrounds. Everything as it was the last time I beheld them. I set my jaw and move forward from my place. Something important woke me, and I must find out what.

The looking glass hangs across the room covered in grime and dust. I reach forward and brush it away, revealing the unscathed surface beneath. I stare at my reflection, and know I should feel something for the way time has lacked to touch my features. I look the same as I had at the beginning, though my eyes are perhaps darker. I know there is no sense in dwelling on it and press my finger on the center of my only window to the world outside. A swirl of images rush by and I catalog the events quickly; storing them away. I have a lot to catch up on it seems. Finally the images slow and I find myself beholding a small cabin. The cry of life is heard, and a tired sigh follows after. I smile knowingly. This is what woke me, I am sure of it. The mirror fades reflecting my image again and I move away.

Kneeling once more before my charge, my body slowly returns to its former state; hard, numb and solid as any metal. Despite this I cannot ignore the feeling growing in my chest. Here within my place of existence change means nothing, but out there; things _are_ changing. The Outer Zone is changing, its people changing; and forgetting the toils and hardships of war. I know this, and I know what this will bring. Darkness will be set free. Darkness will rise just as it had before.

"It has begun." I mutter. "Light will once again be tested."

"Fear not brave guardian. You have not failed your post in a 1000 annuals, I shall not see you fall. Fear not, for you are not as forgotten as you believe. Fear not for the Light shall endure. It may dim, it may flicker, but the Light shall endure. Have faith." The soft wisp like words fill my deafening ears, as I watch the future unfold. And despite my inability to feel, despite my inability to care for what is happening outside this existence; a small smile graces my lips.

"Fear is for cowards and faith for fools with no purpose. I am neither." I reply, as my features grow stoic once more and I drift back into my slumbering.


	2. A Stubborn Fool

Disclaimer: Nope don't own Tin Man…though I do so enjoy spending time with its characters.

Authors Note: Still looking for a beta for this so please excuse any errors. All those I have messaged have not replied. If you are a beta and take interest and would like to assist me please private message me Thanks!

Chapter One:

A Stubborn Fool

Twilight. The suns sink beneath the horizon. Central City lay glittering in the last moments of the day. Quiet, except for the scratching of her pencil. He is standing just shy of the balcony, watching the cityscape; fighting the urge to look over his shoulder. He studies the buildings, and in the growing darkness fights hard to find something more interesting to observe; he bites the inside of his cheek knowing he will find nothing. He dreads their journey to Finaqua at the end of the week. There will be even less there to distract him. She hums softly behind him, a tune unknown to him, probably from the Other Side. Though she carries it a hair above a whisper, he can still make out the notes and it is a sad sounding song. One that makes him curious if it has words and he can't stop himself from glancing. A small half smile is set on her mouth, her eyes following her pencil across the sketchbook in her lap. His mouth twitches, he wants to smile at the scene so badly it hurts.

"It's not polite to stare." She says, her smile broadening playfully, but she does not look up.

"Thought I heard something, Princess." He mutters defending himself, turning back to the landscape quickly. He hears her chuckle quietly, before falling back into her drawing. And for a moment a smile breaks across his face, and he shakes his head. She caught him.

This is how they spend their evenings. He is not sure how this habit started or why he allows it to continue. No, that is a lie he knows exactly why he lets it continue. He feels awkward here within the palace walls, but when he is with her it feels a little less stressing. A little more right; and he frowns slightly. When did this happen? It occurs to him to apologize for his lack communication, and he wishes she knew how badly he wants to speak. To say _something_ so she feels required to answer; but he remains silent and returns to listening to her pencil scrawl across another piece of art work he will never be privy to.

He hates himself for the way he misses their conversations. Their relationship over the past three years has grown more and more silent. He wonders if it is killing her as much as it is killing him. No, he doubts it. Why should it bother her? He curses himself for even entertaining the idea she sees him for anything more than what he is: A friend, the head of her Tin Men; nothing more and nothing less. Commander. Why in the name of Glinda did he accept the position? He sighs frustrated with himself. He knows why; he knows it is the one thing his sense of duty would not allow him to betray. If all else should fail, the oath he took to the crown would keep him from taking his leave. Keeping him here with her instead of out there; to stew in his self loathing alone, forever unable to say the words his soul is dying to hear come from his lips. He spins the ring about his finger unconsciously, as his guilt riddled mind twinges with sorrow.

He shifts knowing he should go, but his feet stay firmly planted. All that waits for him in his own room, mere steps down the hall, are painful shadows and a hell of a lot of baggage. He is angry that he needs her presence to chase it all away. But with her presence the guilt leaves his mind and settles heavily over his heart. He has no right to covet her time, to crave to be by her side, if only as a silent protector. His chin sinks ever so slightly the landscape disappearing behind the brim of his hat. He listens to the sudden silence of the room. She is finished for the evening; and his heart grows heavy that there will be no reason to remain in a few short moments.

He closes his eyes trying to hide the pain he feels writhing just beneath the surface of his skin. How could he let this happen? How did he let it go this long? He should have left, when things finally settled down. He should have run, and never looked back. But he had looked back. He had looked when she had offered him Commander of the newly instated Tin Men. Please. Was all the kid had said. Those big eyes of hers, pleading in a way that made him feel whole, made him feel as though her very life depended on his answer. It is something he has never seen before, even in the eyes of the one person he should have seen it in. His frown deepens as his chin sinks further to his chest.

She is beside him now. He feels the gentle rush of air her arrival creates. He fights the want to open his eyes, to lift his head. He must not give in. He should be gone. He reminds himself. He should have left as soon as the suns had set. Should have bid her goodnight and fled back to the less complicated pain of loneliness down the hall. But he is still here. He breathes in deeply. The smell is sweet, like the wild flower fields after a spring rain. It is the breeze that carries the smell in from the fields, he tells himself. It cannot be her, he cannot let himself believe it is her. He falters, he feels his heart crack, beneath the pressure of the pain. He takes a silent calming breathe. _No_. he tells himself. _Keep your head down. Say goodnight…before…. _A small shutter travels down his spine. Another calming breath and his eyes fly open against his will.

"So quiet." She mutters. The remark is not directed towards him. She is standing still, her eyes running over the candle lit windows below. He swallows trying to rid himself of the lump suddenly caught in his throat. "How are things down in the city? Has Jeb sent word recently?"

"Yes. Everything is fine, Princess. A few fights in the lower quarter, but nothing he and the Tin can't handle." He replies focusing much too hard on the wall beside her. His eyes have a mind of their own when it comes to her and he must not let them wander. She is a Princess, and he is a Tin Man, he has to remember this; and _several_ years her senior, he mentally kicks himself for forgetting.

_Always the stubborn fool._ A stern voice sighs somewhere in the back of his mind. He grimaces slightly. He really did believe to be passed this type of crazy. Laughter pulls him back and his eyes slip. Her body is turning back and forth in semi circles, her arms swinging limply at her sides. A moth has come to visit, and flutters about her wildly. He tries to distract himself, pull his eyes away from her but he can't. Her dark hair reflects the silvery shadow of the moon and the natural glow of the city radiates off her skin. Her eyes shimmer with honest amusement and he fears his chest may actually break open. His fingers itch to run themselves through that long silky hair of hers that curls and falls in perfect tendrils down her back; but they do not. His feet shuffling instead.

"Why do you do that?" She asks, as the moth takes its leave, back to the fields below.

"Do what Princess?" He replies.

"_That_." She emphasizes, holding her hand out as if expecting him to hand her something. "Call me anything but by my name. I don't go around calling you Tin Man or Cowboy."

"What's a cowboy?" he asks, his eyebrows knitting as the odd word rolls off his tongue.

"What? Oh uh…we had them back in Kansas. You dress very similar. They were gunslingers….law men…and some of them were bad guys. But a lot were good ones too. Like Clint Eastwood, Wild Bill, Wyatt Earp, he brooded like you do, always so serious! Then there was Doc Holiday, The Lone Star, John Wayne…that's it! That's what I can call you. Duke!"

She breaks out laughing uncontrollably now, moving to prop herself against the balcony railing. He finds nothing she says amusing in the least, and he is sure he still wouldn't had he been able to understand any of what she said. His mouth twitches again, and he hooks his thumbs into his belt defensively, eyeing her with immense irritation. This only results in her laughing even harder until she can barely breathe.

"I'm sorry." She gasps, her face falling still suddenly as she turns away from him, but not before he catches her eyes. And he realizes that the sadness he thought he imagined is real. Something is bothering her. Not the same something as him surely, but something is; and he speaks before he can stop himself.

"Princess, you alright?" He moves without thinking to stand beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"Ye-yes." She stutters, rolling her shoulders defiantly to remove his hand and, then after a moment. "Why do you want to leave?"

The question rocks him. Why would she ask this? Outwardly he is sure he has given no sign what turmoil is warring in his mind.

"It's just I…I see it in your face. I know that look you get when you know it's time to get out, and quickly." She says not willing to turn to look at him properly. "You spend less and less time with Jeb. Don't bother denying it I've spoken to him about it. He worries about you, you know. He thinks you're going to disappear on us, and I'm afraid of that too. And don't think I haven't notice you won't look at me anymore. You never speak to me unless I say something first. Have I done something? Was it the position I offered you? You know I can't operate the Tin Men without you. You have a home here. You are cared about here. You have a _life _here. Why do you want to leave m-us?"

His heart leaps into his throat. The slip had been so slight if he hadn't been paying such close attention he wouldn't have noticed it. She is visibly upset now. Hugging herself and is still turned away from him. She can't face him, he realizes. For all her spunk and sassy attitude she can never snap at him to his face.

"I…" His voice fails him and his chin sinks to his chest again, his hat obscuring her from his vision. His mind is reeling. He can't think of a proper response. The minutes tick by and he cannot seem to make his mouth work. He feels her move and start to rush passed him; to flee to the confines of her bedroom but he catches her arm.

"Just give me a second." He stumbles over the words. "I.."

"You what?" she is near tears now. "You what Wyatt? "

She spits his name, and he can feel the pain and anger radiating from her. But despite it, he feels something else, something foreign in his chest at the sound of his name coming from her lips, though it was drenching with malice. He feels the wince come and go from his features. The fire in her eyes goes out, as confusion takes over her. His mind swims, as he watches her eyes search his. Another moment, he still can't find the words he wants to say. Another moment, and tears fill her eyes. Another moment and the anger flares up again. She jerks her arm loose of his hold, with surprising strength and runs into her bedroom slamming the door behind her. He listens to the muted sobs, as the crack in his heart grows wider, the lump in his throat larger, and the pit in his stomach twists in knots, as the only two words he can manage fall on a deaf room.

"I don't."

He stands starring at the door of her bedroom completely lost. Caught between crossing the room and beating on her door until she is forced to answer it; or taking a few small steps and throwing himself over the edge of the balcony. It's a much easier answer. He wouldn't be around to feel the pain, but that would leave the Princess alone. While he is confident in Jeb's abilities, he can't do that. She is his responsibility come hell or high water. His jaw sets and he walks stiffly, but silently across the room. He leans against the door frame, straining to hear anything coming from beyond the door.

Her crying has quieted now, but he can still hear the occasional sniffle; he somehow feels the tears she still sheds in silence. He closes his eyes in complete defeat; and sinks his way to the ground by way of the wall beside her door. He grits his teeth, biting back the flood of anger he feels at himself for stuttering like a school boy. He scoffs, crossing his arms. He should have listened to his conscious. He should have ended this day hours ago. But here he is, collapsed back against the wall, on the hard marble floor, of her drawing room. He wishes he is strong enough to walk out her door, walk through the gates of the palace and never, every look back.

He wants to tell her she is wrong. That he never _wanted_ to leave; but that he always knew it something he _should_ do. But her eyes had pleaded with him that day, though he is unsure if she had meant for them too. He wonders what her reason is for wanting him to stay. Is it really because she cannot properly handle overseeing the Tin Men on her own? If he left he knows Jeb is able to handle it. And he knows she knows this as well. So why does it have to be him? His heart burns with the possibility that she might be suffering as much as him. He pulls his fedora over his eyes and slouches further down the wall. He can feel his resolve diminishing. This is it, this is the moment. He needs to get up. He needs to tell her goodnight, and this time for good. He needs to pack his things tonight. He needs to do what he _knows_ is the proper choice. But he made a promise, twice in his life, to keep her safe; and his duty roots him in place. His eyes squeeze shut in pain and his jaw clenches even tighter. _I can't._ _Glinda help me. I can't. _How he wishes she had heard him. How he wishes he'd been able to say it quick enough. She deserves that much.

_Stubborn. Stubborn fool. _The voice echoes again, but this time it is tented with sorrow.

"What?" he mutters.

_Why do you let yourself hurt this much. There is no need for it. The past is the past let go of it. None of it was your fault._ Comes the whisper.

"Not my fault?" he scoffs under his breath. "How is any of everything that happened not my fault? We should have left. Run for the rim of the Zone. But I let the happiness she felt there over run my better judgement. I will not make that mistake again."

_Is that really what's standing in your way?_ _There is no more danger. You did everything you could have possibly done to keep them safe. _The voice is calm, and endearing; but stern. _Gave up your badge, moved them out of the city. The Long Coats would have found you eventually, and you know it had nothing to do with any pre caution you didn't take. Had things gone any differently, the O Z would be lost now…and you know that. She could not have defeated the witch without you. If you hadn't let your heart lead, you would not have been there for her to save. You would not have been there to get her out of that tower._

"Its..just…" he stammers.

_Easier to blame yourself than admit there are some things out of your control._ The voice cuts in. _Zero is paying for his crimes. Do not let one tragedy weigh out the rest of your life. You are stronger than that._

He sighs. Crazy. That is what he is. Completely insane. Talking to a voice inside his head as if it is another person. But it isn't is it? Another person. No of course not. It is just his subconscious playing tricks on him. An effect left over from annuals of being locked away in that tin suit, alone with no one but that horrid scene that played over and over again for company.

_Hardly. I've been here so much longer than that. And you know it._ It reminds him solemnly, as he rolls his eyes. The voice is right. It has been there for much longer. His mother never questioned why he talked to someone she couldn't see, and his eye brows knit wondering why. As he grew older, he answered the voice less audibly, because it didn't sit well with your friends when you held a conversation with yourself. When Adora came into his life the voice began to fade. When his badge was laid down in lue of the quiet life it had stopped completely. He would not hear it again until the night before the Longcoats attacked. He had woken in the stillness of the night moments before dawn. Every muscle set on edge, he should have known it was trying to warn him, trying to fight its way back in to his subconscious to force him to recognize the danger. But he heeded the voice's warning far too late.

Then the suit had come. Annuals of being left to rot, but the voice had not faded again, never abandoned him. It promised he would was not forgotten forever. That he would be set free. He just had to wait, he had to hold on. The voice was kind to him when the sorrow of losing his family became too much to bear; and stern when he wanted to let go of his hope, and let his soul fade. And then it happened. The spunky girl with the big stick had rushed into his vision, disrupting the annuals old memory, and nearly falling flat on her face as she tail spinned. As the rivets were hammered loose from his prison he felt the presence of his companion fade. With each resounding hit vengeance at burned his heart to ash. He had meant what he had said. He had meant to put a bullet in Zero's head and then his own. But it seemed life had other plans for him.

_ Let her go, Tin Man._

"Adora…" He sighs her name. The Voice is right again, and he knows it. He spins the ring about his finger absent mindedly. It has been a part of him for so long; there are times he completely forgets it is still there, and other times it feels unbearably heavy.

_Let her go Tin Man._ The Voice repeats again. _She is gone, I may not have made myself known during your time with her; but I did know Adora just as well as you. She would not wish this loneliness upon you. You _know _that. She would want you to be happy._

The corner of his mouth twitches ever so slightly.

"You're not going to let this go, are you?" he huffs. He feels the voice smile, but it does not reply.

He settles down against the wall as best he can. There will be no sleep for him tonight. He knows the best way to earn the Princess' forgiveness is to remain. He will be the first thing she sees in the morning, and a sore back is more than worth her peace of mind. A small smile escapes his lips.

_You're a stubborn fool Wyatt Cain._ He thinks adjusting his hat to better block out the moon light._ A stubborn, stubborn fool._


	3. A Painted Dream

Disclaimer: Nope don't own Tin Man…though I do so enjoy spending time with its characters.

Authors Note: Still looking for a beta for this so please excuse any errors. All those I have messaged have not replied. If you are a beta and take interest and would like to assist me please private message me Thanks!

Chapter Two:

A Painted Dream

_Idiot…. Idiot, Idiot, IDIOT._ She flings the door shut, the resulting sound equal to the slamming of a tomb. She cannot hold back the tears, and they spill over her face in rivers. Her legs collapse leaving her stranded at the foot of her bed; her flowing blue gown drapes like a withered flower around her. Her hands fly up to her face as her shoulders shudder and sag all at once. She regretted the words as soon as she had said them. She could not shake the look she had seen flash across his face as she spit his name at him, venom dripping all over it. _But he deserves it._ Her subconscious reminds her. _He's been following you around like a guard dog and treating you like nothing more than a responsibility. It was passed time you told him off._ She cringes at how malicious her mind could be.

Another loud sob escapes her lips and she slaps her hand over her mouth to muffle it. She realizes just how much it hurts, to think he isn't happy here. Isn't happy spending the rest of his days as her friend and confidant, if nothing more. She knows he cannot love her. She is reminded of this every day, when the glow of the suns reflect off the ring still present on his finger. She will never be able to be what Adora was to him. She will never be able to know what Adora felt like, being loved by this man. She wishes her heart would break completely; she wishes she could look into his eyes and feel nothing.

The pain she's been ignoring beats down on her, like an unrelenting storm. On the Other Side her friends would tell her to move on, that it was just some stupid crush. Just like Katy had on their 10th grade teacher. But she cannot shake him, she cannot see herself with anyone else. All the men at court, her own age she reminds herself with annoyance, held her attention for no more than a few moments. Hours long conversations with them is nothing in comparison to the silent evenings she spends with him in her drawing room. She quiets her tears but remains frozen in the middle of the emerald floor.

Her body aches with loneliness, every moment of every day. It kills her that he is always within reach of her but she never dares to touch him without obvious purpose. A tap on the shoulder to tell him she wants to leave. A touch on his elbow to warn him she feels uncomfortable with her current state. A brush of his hand on the small of her back telling her to stay close. A gentle but firm grab of her wrist and she knows to step behind him, so he can shield her from whatever he feels threatened by. She smiles despite the sadness. They have their own little language, and it amazes her at how she never noticed it before.

Her spirit calms. She will apologize to him first thing in the morning, but for now she must clear her mind. As she often does after he dismisses himself for the night, she will work on the piece that has consumed much of her time on sleepless nights. She stands on steady feet, and moves to open the curtains of her room. The moon light cascades through the open window in thick silver bands and washes over her tear stained face. She pulls the black sheet that covers the painting free, and drops it to the floor. She braces herself, as she sits down before the easel; at first sight the painting always makes her sad. _It's not a happy painting DG._ She reminds herself. She sighs, picking up her brush and palatte.

The scene it is all she can remember of the fractured dream that has haunted her the past few months. A flat plain like the ones in Kansas, with wheat swaying in the ever present breeze. Then a horse had been added here and there. The closest horse becoming a black stallion, and upon his back a rider. The rider is turned away; their back to her, looking over the vast fields that go on forever into the background. There is a sadness in the way their shoulders sit, the way the brim of their hat is pulled down just over their eyes. She smiles a little, knowing there is no mistaking the uniform of the Tin Men, as she places the last few touches to the collar of their duster. Still the scene seems to be missing something. No, not something, someone. Her eyebrows knit together as she tries to remember.

She yawns distractedly. The painting wavers, her eyes blink. _Did he just move? No DG. You're tired. Go to bed. _She sets her brush down and rubs her eyes. This time the wheat shifts, and she feels the warm breeze she imagined blowing over the fields. She shakes her head, and the painting stills again. _Bed DG. You're hallucinating. _She tells herself. Rising from her seat, she moves shedding her dress and slipping into her night gown. Pulling back the covers she climbs into bed and pulls the blankets up. She sighs deeply sinking into her pillow.

She listens hoping to catch the slightest slip of his boot against the marble floor but all is still and silent. The tears return, and she turns her face into her pillow to muffle the new torrent of sobs that rack her body. _Why did it have to be you? Why couldn't it be someone else, _anyone_ but you?_ She thinks, wiping her face with the sheet. _Out of all the ex-Tin Men, in all the O Z why in god's..er GLINDA'S name did it have to be YOU! _Her heart pounds in her chest, and she feels the anger growing heavy in the pit of her stomach. She realizes she should never have offered him Captain. She should have given it to Jeb. Jeb had shown he wanted to stay. Jeb had shown he wanted to help. Both of these were something she had assumed the elder Cain had wanted to. How can she have been so blind? She wishes she had been more patient. Wishes she had been kinder, giving him time to speak. She knows better than anyone he isn't a talker. She punches her pillow in frustration, stopping herself from taking the lamp by her bed and chucking it out the window. That would just bring him and a dozen guards barreling into her room. She flops back down again, exhaling forcibly. What she wouldn't give for the distraction her TV would give her right about now. Rolling over and mummifying herself in the covers, she closes her eyes, and forces herself to sleep.

_She is within the fields of her painting. The snorting of a horse pulls her gaze to her right. Beside her a man sits upon his horse still as a statue, looking out over the fields intently. His eyes are as blue as the Kansas sky, and as deep as the lake near Finaqua. Her mind wants to see her Tin Man, but she knows this is not Cain. This is someone else. His face is riddled with a hard life. A large scar adorns his cheek, running down his neck and disappearing from view. He adjusts his position in the saddle, and looks behind him; sadness is written in his every feature._

"_I have to go." He mutters. _

"_I know." She hears herself reply. "When will you be back?"_

_She feels him sigh more than she hears it. She knows he is tired. She knows this promise he is keeping is all he has left. Her Mother will be gone soon and she will be Queen. She knows why he does not answer her, and her heart breaks._

"_You're not coming back." She whispers her eyes falling to her feet._

"_No Princess, I do not expect I will be." He answers, shifting in his saddle again. They remain this way together for a long moment, before she can't take it anymore. She turns looking up at him again, willing the tears not to fall._

"_Please…" she pleads._

"_This choice was made long before your time Your Highness. This was always going to be the duty of the other. Your Mother knew this. She knew I above all could complete this journey…you must be at peace with her decision…as I am."_

_She bows her head, knowing his words are true; though how truly at peace he is she is doubtful. Her father could not have done this. Her father for all the love he had for her, her mother and the O Z he was not a fit man. The harsh climate of the North would see an end to him far quicker than to the hardened man that sits before her. She takes a breath steadying her thoughts. She would be Queen in mere days. For as soon as his journey is complete, she knows her mother will be gone. Squaring her shoulders, she lifts her head and steps back from the horse, but not before he catches her hand in his._

"_Good bye Princess. Reign as your mother has: justly and with your heart." He bids her, giving her the tired smile she has grown so attached to. He leans down, pressing his lips to the back of her hand gently. She feels the coolness of his touch, it matches that of the trinket he slips into her hand before letting go. Her resolve falters, and she fears what this could mean. She gives the slightest nod, for that is all she can muster and it is all he wishes her to give; before he urges the horse into a gallop. She watches him until he is nothing more than a speck against the sapphire sky._

_ "Good bye Wayn Tacit. Glinda be with you…" she whispers as the wind picks up and tosses the wheat about like waves. _

She sits up right and finds herself back in her room. The dream again, everything always seems so real. She frowns, abandoning her bed, taking the furs with her, and moving to the window. The woman's unending sadness and grief weighs on her mind. Her bedroom feels colder somehow, emptier than when she entered it. She rubs her arms, and catches herself wishing Cain were here. She glances at the door, wanting nothing more in the world than for him to come rushing in to hold her and chase away all this sadness. She feels herself die a little more inside knowing it will never happen.

_Who are you?_ She wonders, curling up on the cushions by the window. Tomorrow she is going to go the library, get Glitch to help her if she can. Tomorrow she is going to find out who this man is. But tonight she remains under the grip of her sorrow. Tonight she will imagine herself elsewhere, happy and content. Guilty though she will feel in the morning, she smiles. Here in the quiet of her room, far from prying eyes she lets herself pretend her love is returned. And slowly as the full moon begins its decent across the southern sky, she falls peacefully to sleep.


	4. Between Me and Myself

Disclaimer: Nope don't own Tin Man…though I do so enjoy spending time with its characters.

Authors Note: Still looking for a beta for this so please excuse any errors. All those I have messaged have not replied. If you are a beta and take interest and would like to assist me please private message me Thanks!

Chapter Three:

Between Me and Myself

He is busy. The Royal Family will be leaving on holiday in a few days, but that makes little difference. He is busy no matter what the Queen and family are doing. He wonders momentarily when the last time he slept is, but the curiosity is fleeting and his mind moves back to the large and highly accurate scaled model of the O Z. He is busy but he still finds time to be of help to DG. Behind him the Princess is flipping through hundreds of stacks of books, and his mind slips again wondering where the Tin Man could be. _Maybe he's out riding or took off on an adventure without us!_ Glitch squeaks, coming back from wherever he had wandered off to. Ambrose smiles to himself. He thought he would hate it. Having to share his thoughts with another being, but Glitch is everything he always could not be properly. He knows when to laugh at jokes now, knows when to tell his own and with finesse, knows when to stop and eat because Glitch whines when he is hungry. Yes despite the momentary rabbit trails Glitch often led him down, completely by accident of course, Ambrose has to say he is happier with him than he had been without him. And he didn't so much mind it that the younger princess always used his counterpart's name instead of his own. Glitch would nudge him when he heard his name, and Ambrose would answer, no one but the two of them the wiser. He shrugs in response to Glitch's statement and shakes his head. _Speaking of rabbit trails. Come on other me, lets look over this map again._ He thinks, more or less feeling the nodding of Glitch's head and returns to the model again, pulling the large magnification glass over the area they were currently studying.

"I'm telling you doll…there's nothing here." Glitch sighs; they have repeated this same answer to her at least a hundred times since being hauled in here before they could finish their breakfast properly. Something that had made Glitch run off to pout somewhere out of hearing distance. _What is it with you and food? _He thinks.

"The map stops just beyond the northern palace. No one has ever traveled passed there. It's nothing but wastes of ice." Ambrose mutters.

"_Someone _traveled beyond there, Glitch. Someone named Wayn Tacit." DG grumbles stacking a book in the rejection pile and pulling another large tome into her lap. "He left on business for Queen Dorothy. Someone had to have made a note of it _somewhere._"

"And you're sure he went _north_?" he asks for the eighth time.

"_Yes _Glitch. He went north." She answers irritably.

He shrugs his shoulders in response, setting down the glass and moving to sit in the chair opposite the princess. Determination is written in every part of her face. He stifles a yawn and lounges in the high backed chair. He has to admit that DG never quits when she set her sights on something. It really is not a question of if they find what she seeks, but a question of when.

He catches a glimpse of the Tin Man, from the corner of his eye. Always so close and yet always so far away. Glitch could tell something happened between them, probably during what DG called their quiet time. When the door to her drawing room was locked for the night and no amount of pounding was going to make her open it. Ambrose knew nothing in appropriate was occurring, but only because the balcony to his and Glitch's room is in plain sight of DG's, if one looked up from hers anyway. Glitch had talked him into spying on them, and after a month or two had finally admitted nothing was going to happen. The Tin Man never left his post by the balcony arch way until he left for his own room often reappearing on his own balcony seconds later. While Glitch was not overly pleased with the outcome that nothing was happening, Ambrose knew things took time. Especially things of the heart, and especially when it came to Wyatt Cain.

_Does he have a middle name?_ Glitch asks. _…do we have a middle name?_

_Not now Glitch._ He reprimands, _now what was I thinking about?_

_Cain being all moody._ Glitch replies, if not with a hint of whining.

_Ah yes, thank you._ He answers.

Yes Cain has kept his distance all morning acting very interested in the rows of books he is still walking up and down. But Ambrose knows better than to think the Captain of the Princess' Tin Men is interested in _books_. He decides he will corner him later while DG is taking her afternoon tea with her family. Glitch grunts in agreement. He stretches and his stomach growls rudely. _I'm hungry…_Glitch mutters, before losing track of reality again. _Again…with the food…_ He exhales forcibly, getting up and placing his hands over the pages of the tome DG is skimming. She looks up at him, marginally annoyed.

"We've been in here for hours….we need a break." He states, straightening and folding his arms over his chest. The princess nods and gets up, handing off the tome to him.

"I'll go have the kitchen maids make us something and bring it back." She replies. "Keep looking while I'm gone Glitch. You read faster than me."

He nods and watches her descend the stairs to the first floor of the library and hurry away in search of food; the Tin Man sliding out the door behind her. He grunts, and Glitch squeaks excitedly that food is eminent. Ambrose is too busy scoffing at how Cain always manages to keep himself out of the spot light, to reprimand him again. _Hey, he's supposed to be out of sight out of mind until you need him isn't he?_ Ambrose shrugs again conceding to Glitch's momentary brightness. He falls back into the chair he'd vacated a second ago picking up where the princess left off. A few moments later saw him setting the tome aside and reaching for another book.

_Why are we looking through all these books again?_ Glitch asks, forcing his counterpart to look up and survey the mess around them.

_Because Princess DG is searching for a man sent on a journey by Queen Dorothy. _Ambrose replies, rolling his eyes.

_So…why are we skimming books about things that only happened a hundred annuals ago?_ Glitch inquires innocently.

He feels like smacking himself in the face, and feels the subsequent sting as Glitch obliges him. Hours of searching and the one not paying so much as an inkling of attention makes him feel as stupid as a stump. _You're not stupid…wait that's a bad thing….yes I mean no…I mean….I mean…I mean._

"Glitch you're a _genius_!" Ambrose laughs as he runs for the winding stair case that will take him to the libraries forth floor. He hurries down the large hall way lined with wooden shelving over stuffed with scrolls and centuries of dust. He grabs the sliding ladder and pulls it along behind him, and finally near the end of the hall, finds the annual he looking for. Ascending the ladder two steps at a time, he runs his finger over the books he knows no one has bothered to look for in a thousand annuals. Most of the books' titles are faded and unreadable but one book sticks out among the rest. He lifts it carefully from the shelf and slides back down the ladder. Glitch's curiosity gets the better of him and plops down right where they stood in the middle of the hall. Slowly opening the cover, he gingerly turns the first page. In faded green print, that he is sure would have been a brilliant emerald green when it had been written, were the words _The Reign of Emily Glinda of the House of Gale._ He turns another page, but it is blank. He turns another and almost as if it was burned into the parchment a dedication: _In Memory of Wayn Tacit_. He leafs ahead of few pages but finds the rest to be blank. He curses and he feels his counterpart flinch. He apologizes almost immediately and picks them both up from the floor.

He hears the familiar grind of the heavy Library doors being pushed open, and the tinkling of trays laden with food. His stomach gurgles and Glitch smiles. _FOOD!_ Of course the happy moment is shattered by irritated voices bouncing off the marble walls.

"For the eighteenth time go take some time for yourself! We're going to be on holiday at Finaqua for weeks. Go spend some time with your son before we leave." the Princess snaps. "I'm_ fine_. Really! I'm with _Glitch_ in a _library_. What could _possibly _happen!"

"Do you really want me to answer that Princess?" Cain bites back.

"You are _IMPOSSIBLE! _Do you know that!_"_ DG nearly growls and Ambrose stops short at the end of the hallway. The princess is outwardly frustrated, her hands by her sides, clenching and unclenching in tight fists. Ambrose knew this warning. The Tin Man was going to get hit momentarily if he did not choose his words carefully. _I should break them up, these types of moments only fuel gossip among the servants for cycles._ He thinks, but Glitch doesn't let him, and so he remains listening to them quarrel like teenagers.

"It's my job, the one _you_ gave me." Cain points out, subconsciously hooking his thumbs in his belt. "It's my responsibility to ensure you are safe _at all times._"

Ambrose feels his other self flinch. Cain should not have said that. He can feel the temperature in the room escalate several degrees even from where he stands. DG's magic is responding to her temper. Cain really should not have said that.

"_Responsibility!_" She shrieks, as several of the glasses on the tray near her shatter, sending the two servants running back to the kitchen for replacements. The sound makes her jump, her anger dissipating almost immediately. He watches as she takes a deep breath before turning back to the Tin Man, and continuing quietly. "Out."

"What?" Cain asks in surprise.

"You heard me!" DG replies, gaining momentum again. "I'm the princess and I need five minutes of space! Out! Out! OUT!"

Cain does not move, and Ambrose wishes to warn him what is about to happen. He had seen her do it once before as a child, when a duke's son had gotten irreparably on her nerves. The temperature in the room rises quickly again and the Tin Man is flung across the floor. Sliding unceremoniously out of sight, as the large wooden doors slam shut; at a speed, Ambrose is sure, they had never experienced before.

"Glitch?" DG's now calm voice floats up from below. He has to admit her mood literally changes at the drop of a hat; and he hurries to bring himself into view. "What are you doing up there?"

"Should I ask what that was about?" He inquires, nodding towards the doors.

"No." She replies, pouring herself some water, into the only remaining glass on the tray.

"Well then. I had an idea. I didn't find a lot though…" he begins hurrying down the winding stair case and handing her the book. "But I did find that your Wayn Tacit was in fact a breathing living person…about a thousand years ago."

DG's eyes light up, and carefully takes the book to inspects it. She forgets about the food the servants left, blindly finding her chair among the piles of books. Her eyes are glued to the pages and his eyebrows knit with concern.

"Princess?" He asks, surveying the trays she abandoned. Finding his favorite crisp sandwiches and a finely aged bottle of Emerald Wine, to which he thanks Glinda for not shattering; he settles back in the chair across from her. "What are you doing? There's nothing written there but a title and dedication, the rest faded…"

"What…" she mutters distracted, turning another page. He takes it as denial, while Glitch hungrily devours the sandwiches. _Ask if she's ok…_ Glitch urges. _Wait why did I say that? Are you going to finish those?_ Ambrose smiles waiting for the food to be swallowed and turns back to the princess.

"DG…are…." He is silenced by a raise of her hand.

"He survived being shot out a window." She says curtly. "I think he can handle one little sling across a room."

"…you ok?" He finishes ignoring her. She sits for a moment, eyes scanning the blank pages at high speed, before standing and calling out to the servants they can hear arguing about who is going to be the one to open the door. They nearly fall over each other as they slip in, and bow ridiculously low.

"Tell my mother I wish to see her, here in the library at once; my sister as well." DG states, unnaturally regal.

"Yes your Highness, at once your highness." The two kitchen maids repeat and remove themselves quite quickly from the room.

"DG?" Glitch asks.

"Go find Cain, Glitch." She answers, resting her hand on his arm. "You need time out of this place, and I need someone to make sure I didn't break anything important."

Ambrose takes the back seat as his other self smiles joyfully. It isn't often he lets Glitch take over for more than a few minutes; but it is something in how she asks it. Something in him knows she does realize the difference between the two of them; and this is something he can feel she wants Glitch to do, not him. Ambrose sighs as he turns their feet away from wondering down an isle Glitch suddenly grew overly interested in, and reminds him of their task. Glitch replies with a "Oh right!" and he skips childishly through the door way.


	5. Men of Metal

Shout outs :

Rissy James : I will admit when I saw that you had commented on not one but all three of the chapters I posted on top of the prologue I danced around like a silly person I was so excited. Your words were kind and uplifting and all around fueled me to ignore my mmo and focus on my writing ^_^.

Brikyzbabe: Thank you for your comments, and as far as the no blatant errors. *exhales relief* YAY!

KLCtheBookWorm: There wasn't really an apology that occurred per se. DG feels bad for yelling at him yes but after they both sleep on it it's business as usual until he irritates her again. I wanted to give the it the feel that this type of thing happens often. I wasn't quite done with the two being tiff'd at each other….they will make up however when and how I will not disclose :P

Men of Metal

He is tired but pleased with himself. Tomorrow they will make the final preparations to move the Royal Family to Finaqua for the remainder of the summer at least. He is going to miss them while they are away. He is slightly sad he is not going with them, but Central City needs him. This is where DG needs him, so he will stay with no complaint. The summer palace is far too uneventful anyway. He smirks. He knows he needs the streets of Central City as much as they need him. No, if he has his way, he will not be seeing that place again in his life time. Finaqua is quiet, peaceful, times runs slower there, nothing to chase but princess' skirt tails. In other words, boring. He chuckles to himself, envisioning his remaining parent yelling furiously in argument as he chases a Princess that refuses to stay out of trouble. Yes, the slower pace of Finaqua is something his father needs, even if the older man will not admit it. _Mission__Jeb._ He reminds himself picking up his speed, from where it has lulled into a slow shuffle.

There were a few more decisions that needed making, and they were too small to bother her Majesty or her family with. Why did this place have to be so huge! He finds a bench along the corridor he is sure he's passed through before and sits down with a huff. Give him open fields, enclosed woods, even the hedge maze; and he could track down a hawk on a cloudy day. But the Queen's Advisor, in a hundred story palace with infinite hiding places? His eye twitches in frustration, as he resists the urge to knock his head against the stone wall behind him. He has a lieutenant to do these things. Why did he always insist on doing them himself?

"Honestly, they fight like an old married couple…" the hushed voice carries through the open door way.

"I know!" comes the reply in a near squeak. "Henri said, that yesterday they had the worst argument yet. He couldn't hear what they were saying but she screamed at him, left him standing on her balcony. He said he could hear her door slamming from his post in the hanging gardens two floors down!"

He stands up and moves forward. Peering around the corner of the doorway he watches two kitchen maids scurrying away up the stairs. His eye brows knit and his stomach knots up. He doesn't need an explanation of who they are talking about. He knows all too well and frowns finding his way back to the bench, irritation welling up in him. What business of theirs is it what occurs between the Princess and the Commander of her Tin Men? None. He is angry, he realizes. The servants should know better than to gossip about the goings on in the palace. They should know better than to allow private conversations to go any further than themselves should they over hear it. He grinds his teeth at their audacity though he worries about the argument. It is not often DG raises her voice to a pitch that can be heard more than a step away from her. But when she does, it is always Wyatt Cain's fault. What in the O Z could his father say to make her that angry? Then again knowing his father it is probably a case of what the older man _didn__'__t_ say. He remembers his mother telling him how she would kick his father out of the house, because he had forgotten something important; or refused to let him in because he had come home late again after promising to be home for dinner. _Always__keep__the__promises__you__make__to__a__woman__Jeb.__No__matter__how__small__you__may__think__they__are,__to__her__they__could__be__the__world._

He smiles remembering the sound of her voice and sniffles. He misses her, and wonders what she would think of all this. What she would say if she were here, and he feels his lungs tighten. No there is nothing he could have done. Things could not have happened any other way to bring him to this same moment. Had she lived he would never have had the resolve to unite the fractured groups of resistance fighters. He never would have had the strength to be the leader they needed him to be. He would not have been there that day to rescue his father from the LongCoats.

His father. He feels the uncertainty welling up in him. Every time he manages to catch the older man's gaze he can sense something brewing. Something just below the surface of his hard face that is tormenting him. They had both come to terms with his mother's death years ago, and he is sure this is not the source; it is something else, something new. He knows that look, he has seen it in his mother's eyes before. The moment before she realized it was too late for them to escape. The moment when her instincts and his own had told them to flee. His heart aches suddenly and he reaches up to rub his chest remembering the conversation with the Princess he probably shouldn't have had.

He knows it is not wise to tell DG his thoughts. That it is just a matter of time before his father is sure to take his leave. How the elder Cain is still here is beyond him. He tries to explain to her that his dad is just to set in his ways. She hears none of it. It hurts him more than he admits the pained look in her eye when she realizes his father is unhappy. His heart burns beneath his hand. Her eyes give her away more than she realizes. It is so evident and he is no fool. How he wishes he could save her from the heartache, every inch of him believes she will suffer. His father will leave her one day. He will leave her life as suddenly as he came into it. There will be no goodbyes, no time for her to cling to him and beg him to stay.

He should hate his father for the torment he is causing DG's heart, but he can't. He should have left for her sake, turned down what she had offered. Gone back to the simple life, severed all ties in one quick painful cut. He knows she gave his father a second chance at life. But is there more to it than a promise to a now dead old man that is keeping his father at her side? Duty helps but he somehow sees more than the weariness of responsibility in his father's eyes. What is it? Hope lights in his chest suddenly but dies just as quickly. No it is too much to believe, too much to hope for. He takes a deep breath and calms himself. Jebidiah Cain is not about to have a break down in the middle of a random palace corridor.

"I can't believe she did that!" comes the squeaky voice again, just audible above the hurried foot falls. He looks up in enough time to see the same two servants as before, flee the hallway above and across from him, and take to the stairs.

"Mad as a bee in a stockin', 'e was!" giggled the other maid.

"Wait until we tell Henri! He's going to be so mad he missed it!"

He sighs, never a dull moment. He gets up heading them off at the stair case, this is going to stop.

"What is the princess' business, _stays_ the princess' business, and no one elses unless she so wishes." He half growled, as the two young girls came to a gasping halt. "Do I make myself excruciatingly clear?"

"Y-yes, Captain." The older maid breathed.

"We meant no harm by it." The other squeaked.

"And you will do no harm by it as it will not be leaving those pretty heads of yours." He replies taking a menacing step forward. " If I hear but a breathe of this or any other private goings on of the Princess DG or her family from _anyone_ other than their majesties I will see them tried as conspirators against the crown. Send _that_down your precious berryvine. Understood?"

The servant girls nod fiercely and he dismisses them with a hard jerk of his head. They fall over themselves, and disappear down another corridor for the kitchens. Once they are gone his shoulders sag and he frowns deeply. It scares him sometimes how cold hearted he can be. He runs his hands through his hair, and sighs again. He really needs to learn to send his lieutenant to do these errands. Setting his jaw in true Cain fashion, he registers the slamming of a door a few floors above him. Maybe _that_ was his quarry. He has wasted enough time fretting about things he cannot control, like a teenage girl at her first ball. At least he knows where the Advisor is not. _Time__to__check__the__next__the__next__fifty__stories._He thinks marching himself towards the stair case determinedly.

_Wham!_

He jumps looking above him quickly. Nothing moves, his body tenses; every muscle set on alert. He takes the stairs two and three at a time, soundlessly. While there is little chance of someone getting passed the Royal Guards and the Princess' elite personal Guards of Tin, one cannot be too careful. He pulls his pistol loose from its holster and reaches the last few stairs meeting no one. Another loud thud comes from above him and he moves quickly up twelve more flights of stairs, bringing him to the Royal Quarters. He moves swiftly. Most of the doors are open. It is midday the Queen and her Consort are holding court, the crowned Princess with them. And DG…well she is with his father. Nothing to worry about there. Then he heard it, this time it sounds more like pounding and then a voice snaps; thoroughly dripping with annoyance.

"Come on Tin Man!" Glitch hollers, going at the door again with his palm as he twists the handle. "I have to make sure you're not…I have to make sure you're not…I have to make sure you're not…_!_"

The Captain sighs tiredly, replacing his gun and walking slowly towards the glitching Advisor. Without announcing himself he smacks the higher ranking man on the back of the head, just hard enough to jolt him.

"What am I…I'm supposed to be…wait who are…Oh hello Jeb…I mean Captain Cain…Do you know what I sup…Oh right! Come on Tin Man! Open the door! I have to make sure you're not…HURT!"

"I'm _fine._" Comes the muffled reply. Even through the door he knows his father is not in fact fine. The anger dripping in the elder Cain's voice, is enough to have half the Tin Men scattering; even the seasoned ones. He knows Glitch is not going to get that door open, unless he tears it off it's hinges. Pulling the small batch of paper work from his duster, which started him on this hunt in the first place, he plants his hand on Glitch's shoulder firmly.

"I need these signed Ambrose…for the royal's retreat tomorrow morning." He mutters just low enough so he knows his father will not hear him.

"But DG said…" Glitch trails off momentarily and the spark of mischief vanishes in a blink. "Of course sir. I will do so with much haste."

And with that the advisor took off at a gallant pace for his office. He smiles, Ambrose still has the upper hand and on this occasion Jeb is glad of it. He watches the advisor until he turns a corner and is out of sight. _Mission:__Find__Ambrose__:__complete.__New__mission:__Get__Father__Out__Of__His__Room__:__accepted._ Jeb thinks turning back to the door that still remains shut tight, and rolls his eyes. His father could be such a child in some ways. Taking a step forward he knocks lightly and waits. He knows his father can tell a difference, and almost like magic the door clicks open. He shakes his head as he steps in and shuts the door behind him.

His father is standing out on the balcony, his duster and fedora left abandoned on the bed. He is cradling his shoulder staring furiously out at the landscape. Jeb picks his steps carefully as if the floor is full of hidden pressure plates that could set off any number of traps. He stops short of the curtains and waits. He knows better than to start the conversation. He feels as though this latest disagreement may be his fault. He really should not have had that talk with DG.

"She's as stubborn as a mule." Cain mutters, trying to hide the wince as he massages his shoulder.

"And your not?" He smiles, successfully holding back the laugh that so desperately wants to escape."What did you or did you not do this time?"

"How do you know it's my fault?" His father bit back.

"Well she's a woman, which means she's right and your wrong…pretty sure you taught me that." He replies leaning against the archway of the balcony. His father turns towards him, nodding in agreement, an amused smile lying across his face. They stood in silence for another few minutes before the younger got up enough courage to speak again

"So what did happen?"

"Fool that I am. I spent all night on a hard floor..." Cain sighs. "And in the morning she still thinks I'm just gonna up and vanish in the middle of the night and apparently so do you."

He winces at this. _Yep__definitely__should__not__have__had__that__talk__with__DG._ He thinks shifting his weight, his gaze suddenly finding his boots much more interesting. The silence falls thickly around them and he takes a short calming breath. As a boy this was the moment before he knew he was in trouble. That calm before the storm. Those seconds before his father would turn on him and scold him for being foolish. As the seconds tick by he realizes this is not what is going to happen and he looks up again. His father is still standing like a statue before him, though both hands are now at his sides, resting in loose fists. The sigh he heaves, his shoulders rise and sag, as if the weight of the very O Z rests on them. Jeb's mouth twitches, and his feet shuffle again.

"I know you're not going to leave her or me without good reason, Father. But she's right sometimes, you…you get this look in your eye. The same one mom would get when she thought we had been in one place for too long." He speaks low, fearing of being over heard. "She is scared out of her mind that one day you're just not going to be here anymore. And it's really not going to matter if you have a good reason or not, it's still going to hurt….alot."

The air surrounding them is even heavier now. His father makes no sign that he even hears his son speak. Jeb grunts looking back into his father's room. The duster and hat catch his eye and he smiles sadly. Moving forward he lifts both and feels the familiar weight of the jack on his arm and the hat in his hand. How many times had he snatched it when his father had come home and run out to play tin man in the woods? His mother hollering after him not to stray too far and his father's laughter resounding from the front door. He reaches up and adjusts his own fedora and join his father on the balcony. In a moment of solitary childishness, Jeb sets the forgotten hat on his father's head and holds the battered duster up beckoning him into it.

"Come on old man." He chuckles. "You have a Princess to play make up with, and I've got an advisor to see."


End file.
